Earning an Accolade
by Iced Blood
Summary: Twoshot character study. They don't understand just what he has at the end of the day, and he doesn't have the time to spare to make them understand.
1. Recognition

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EARNING AN ACCOLADE  
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Part I: Recognition**

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**Iced Blood**

**March 31st, 2007**

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**1.**

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_What do you have, Seto Kaiba?! What do you have at the end of the day?!_

They just didn't get it.

Later, when he would have the time to sit down and think about that, when his heart wasn't bouncing around in his chest like a crazed animal caught in a hunter's net, and his breath wasn't catching in his throat every four seconds, and he was actually able to _think _instead of relying on instinct, adrenaline, intangible anger and an unspoken promise deep in the recesses of memories he would have liked more than a little to erase, he would think back on that thought and realize just why it was used so often, why that phrase was so clichéd.

People, as a general rule, were fools.

Another cliché, perhaps, but life's rules became, by their very nature, as much.

Clichés existed for a reason.

And Seto Kaiba now stared at one of those reasons, his face impassive in response to the young woman's fury. Though the gathered people standing on that beaten balcony that had become an impromptu arena would have considered his expression one of haughty indignation, because apparently he was known for such displays, the reason he took so long to respond to Téa Gardner's likely rhetorical outburst was because he honestly couldn't fathom for several seconds that it had been uttered in the first place.

Yugi Motou, the boy who had miraculously risen to the top of the gaming world (as frivolous as such a world might have been considered by the majority of people, it was still a surprising accomplishment) overnight, by virtue of a single, technically unofficial victory, had several friends that he had taken to the top with him.

He and his close-knit band of cohorts were as close to each other as humanly possible without the use of cosmetic surgery, and Gardner specifically, about as stereotypical a teenage girl as could ever be found, spouted often the importance of friendship, of love and trust and bonds and _being there for one another_.

_She_, of all people, would ask him such a question.

A question so unbelievably dense and insulting because the answer was so obvious.

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**2.  
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Yagami Kohaku worked a lot. It wasn't that he was a workaholic so much as he just plain _needed _to. He worked two jobs, one at a pizza parlor and another at a local grocery store, and because he most certainly did not possess the incomprehensible brilliance of his son, not even close, he could not get very far up the ladder with either of them.

His wife, Yuki, usually worked part-time as a florist in a small shop not far from their modest home, but was at that home most of the day. Both she and Kohaku believed it important that one of them be there when their child came home from school.

One of them needed to be there, at all times, when Seto was home. It was important for a child to know that, no matter what happened, no matter what time it was, at least one of his parents were at hand. And that was why Yuki had not even begun working until her son had entered into the first grade.

Yuki had quit her job, though, when time began nearing for her second child to be born. Though it was clear they really couldn't afford expanding their family from three to four, Seto had been so excited upon hearing that his mother was pregnant, that he would become a big brother, that abortion or adoption was completely out of the question.

The brightness in Seto's eyes, the bounce in his step, the unrestrained excitement in his voice, whenever he thought about having a younger sibling, told his parents all they needed to know.

Money wasn't relevant.

Comfort didn't matter.

It was a burden they would have to endure.

Because it was the first time either of them had ever seen the young genius they had brought into the world act overtly _excited _about anything.

Being an older brother was the first thing Kohaku and Yuki had ever seen their beloved boy actively, seriously prepare for; everything else came easily. Schoolwork came so easily to him that he was one of the only children on the face of the planet whose parents _always _believed when he said, "I finished it at school."

When he did his chores, he did them with machine-like efficiency; his room was always spotless. The dishes and laundry were always clean and put away, the latter folded so neatly it seemed like a professional had broken into their home each night, offended by their own work, and had taken it upon himself to fix things.

That was how Kohaku had put it once, which had caused Yuki to giggle slightly; it was funny in a strange sort of way.

Seto had simply shrugged.

Both had their assumptions as to why Seto was the way he was; Kohaku thought of it as simple luck. He didn't complain, he didn't whine, he didn't get into trouble, and his grades were so good he never had to check on them. Kohaku attributed that to good parenting and a streak of luck.

Yuki was much closer to the mark.

He was lonely.

Family was a strange thing, she knew. When one is young, one's parents don't count as friends. Mom is Mom and Dad is Dad, and that's all there is to it; maybe a Mother or a Father thrown into the mix sometimes in formal situations.

Seto had no friends. No companions.

His genius was a curse.

At night, before Kohaku collapsed into an exhausted sleep and Yuki had finished reading a story to Seto, they would sit out on the porch together.

"Nobody at his school likes him," Yuki told her husband on one of those nights. "I've been on field trips with him. They all pick on him, calling him names or, worse, flat-out ignoring him. They don't see it or don't care if they do...but it hurts him."

Kohaku, taking a slow drag on one of the cigarettes he only allowed himself because a friend loaned them to him (they were too expensive otherwise), sighed. "Yuki, it's a fact of life that kids are cruel to each other. Seto's a prodigy. The only reason he isn't far ahead of his grade is because he doesn't want to skip, remember? Quote-unquote 'normal' children don't like being shown that there are people their own age that are so much smarter than they are."

"That doesn't make matters any better," Yuki said with a frown. "I don't care if their reasons are as normal and expected as breathing; they're hurting my son and I don't like it."

"What've we taught him, honey? Work at what can be changed, accept what can't be. Human nature can't be changed."

"...That's why we can't give up this baby," she said. "I know, God, I know, that we can't afford it. And I know you think it's a bad idea. Better to put him up for adoption, and deal with Seto's disappointment for a while, still living the way we are...but I can't stand the idea of telling him that his little brother or sister won't be living with us, and that he probably won't ever meet them."

Kohaku sighed. "...I know. He's bouncing off the walls waiting for it. God knows it's a welcome sight, seeing Seto anticipate something."

"He's excited because now he'll have somebody. Bringing someone outside of the family into it is a tough step, and something that he won't be able to do because none of the other kids will let him try to take that step...but if someone else comes along who's already tied to him, it's different. That first step will be taken already."

"I dunno. I think you're being too optimistic about this, Yuki. Seto might resent the attention we're going to have to devote to the baby, you know. I did when I was little."

"I don't think so," Yuki said, looking up at the night sky. "I think Seto will make a wonderful brother. And there's no doubting that he's an impeccable role model."

Kohaku nodded. "True...it could work out like you say. I'm just trying to be realistic about the whole thing."

"Pessimism is just as far removed from realism as optimism," Yuki replied.

"I err on the side of caution."

"What point is there to caution for a pessimist?"

Kohaku blinked.

He honestly had no idea.

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**3.  
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Somewhere in the back of his mind, Yagami Seto knew his mother wouldn't survive this visit to the hospital. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it registered that this would probably be the last time he saw her alive.

And Seto loved his mother. She was the only one who really understood him. Or, if she didn't, she was the only one who made a real attempt at trying.

She always asked him how school went, if he did well on his last exam, if he'd managed to get any extra credit points, and any number of other things that his father had long since stopped asking about.

And that was nice. For Kohaku, Seto's good grades had become the norm. For Yuki, they were always a delight, always something to celebrate. And that mattered to Seto. His accomplishments still mattered to her.

He thought that marked the crucial difference between his mother and everyone else. Anyone who ever met him labeled him as "Seto, the smart boy."

But Yuki didn't label him as anything. To her, he was "Seto." Her son. Her baby. And he happened to be smart.

To her, his intelligence was only important in that it helped shape his character. It wasn't what defined him.

She was the only person, at that time in his life, that he could say with absolute certainty that he loved. Even his father, as much as he respected him for working so hard for his wife and son, didn't make that list.

And he thought, in that part of his mind that knew Yagami Yuki was dying, that that should mean he would focus on her in these final moments.

But he couldn't.

His eyes were locked on the tiny bundle in her arms.

Yuki was smiling through her weariness. "Seto, honey? This is Mokuba. Your brother."

The expression on the seven-year-old prodigy's face could be described as nothing less than awestruck, as if this creature his mother held was some sort of mythical being come from another world entirely.

He reached out a thin hand.

A small, chubby, cherubic hand reached out and gripped his finger. The baby looked at him, blinking, as if unsure of what to make of this thing that was smaller than the big thing holding him but still so much bigger than himself.

"Seto...dear...I have to ask a favor."

"Huh?"

Yuki smiled again, but it was a sad smile. "Your father is a good man, but he isn't good with children. Help him, okay? Be a big brother little Mokie can rely on...huh?"

Seto nodded, but didn't honestly hear her.

That part of his mind that knew she was dying now had concrete proof. But he also knew something else: Yuki had done this for him.

He was a genius, after all. And not having anyone to talk to on a day-to-day basis had given him only two alternatives: listening, and watching.

He knew, whenever his parents spoke about the baby, that they couldn't afford it. He knew, just based on the way they lived, that another person in the house would cause problems.

And he knew that it had been his obvious euphoria at the idea of having a younger sibling that had caused them both to simply resign themselves to the fact that the baby was going to stay.

That was their part.

It was what they had done for him, and for the baby.

No...that wasn't right. This child was no longer a faceless concept. No longer "the baby."

This was Yagami Mokuba.

His brother.

And Seto knew that _this _was to be his part.

He vowed, then and there, that the sacrifice his mother made for her children would not go to waste.

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**4.  
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More to keep his "peers" from asking stupid questions than out of any respect for United States cultural tradition, he took to calling himself by, and writing his name as, Seto Yagami.

And, since Niisama did it that way, so did Mokuba.

Seto couldn't remember when his brother had started using that particular term in reference to him. It was a little odd, he thought, considering that, while they were Japanese and that was part of the reason Seto had taken it upon himself to learn the language, both boys had been taught English from birth.

Once, he had asked the energetic, too-smart-for-his-own-good, five-year-old why he used that word.

"'Cuz that's who you are!" Mokuba had said, as if it made all the sense in the world.

It wouldn't be until much later that he fully understood the implications of that statement.

Kohaku had died three or four months before Mokuba's third birthday. And because he had had to take on a third job in order to support both of his children, even when he'd been alive, he hadn't been much of a presence in Mokuba's life.

It was doubtful the boy even remembered the man who had sired him.

Mokuba's daily life consisted constantly of his brother.

After a long and drawn-out period of various meetings, interviews, phone discussions and what seemed a forests' worth of paperwork on the part of his father, Seto had found himself no longer in school.

That bothered him little.

And so he had spent his days at home, raising Mokuba as best he could, with help from his father during the small windows of time he was home.

When a wayward minivan reunited Kohaku with his beloved wife, Seto and Mokuba ended up in the hands of an aunt and uncle they had never met before; godparents, he supposed.

That lasted about two to three months.

Seto wasn't bothered by that. He wasn't even much bothered by his father's death. That had kept him awake many a night, until he finally accepted the fact that he had simply respected his father...

He hadn't loved him.

For a long time, even after making that realization, Seto was unsettled by that. He hadn't loved his own father. That was just one of the things a child is expected to do.

Whenever he thought too hard on those things, and began sinking into that dark, dank thing called depression, he would remind himself that he had a job to do.

Mokuba needed him.

That became the driving rule of his existence throughout his days as an orphan, and Mokuba knew it, too. He knew, even as young as he was, that his big brother did a lot, a whole lot, for him.

And there just wasn't a proper word for what that meant in English.

So, he found one in another language.

Niisama.

People wondered. Of course they did.

Anyone who knew what that particular word meant always seemed to scoff at it, like a five-year-old couldn't be smart enough to fully understand what such a title should imply. Respect was not to be given out so idly, they would say.

Seto was only twelve years old, after all. Yes, he was almost a teenager by this point, and did an "acceptable" job of caring for the boy (they had no clue), but that still didn't warrant such an accolade.

Mokuba thought they were all dumby-heads.

His words.

Mokuba thought the biggest example of just why Seto fully deserved his title was whenever prospective parents came by to talk to him.

He always asked a single question after the usual pleasantries, wherein Potential Mother would comment on how "adorable" Seto was and Potential Father would comment on how "bright" Seto was and basically just ignore the ebon-headed boy kneeling next to him, concentrating hard on constructing the perfect sand kingdom (because just a castle in the middle of nowhere was silly), or deciphering an oh-so deceptive tome of special secrets that nobody else knew (just where _had _the puppy hidden his cookie?), or bending an obstinate sheet of parchment (binder paper) to his will, armed to the teeth with diabolical weaponry that no one could hold out against for long (each with a large, bright "Crayola" stamped on the side).

And that question was: "What about Mokie?"

Potential Mother would blink, and Potential Father would frown.

Seto would gesture.

They would look.

And he always had his answer then.

"Well," Potential Mother would say, "we hadn't intended on another—"

"We can't afford to—" Potential Father would try to add.

Seto would turn his attention away from them, and would pointedly ignore any further attempts at socializing.

The discussion was over.

Seto didn't care.

He didn't even say anything. No, "No deal, then," or, "I won't leave without him," or, "Sorry; not interested," or anything like that.

His first test for a potential home was if the people who wanted to claim him noticed Mokuba at all. His second test was if they spoke to him, or even about him, during the course of their usually cookie-cutter diatribe.

The third, and final, was the question.

Much more often than not, all three were big, fat failures.

And so Seto ignored them.

Some just understood that that was that and went on. Some tried to continue the conversation. Some tried to barter with him; maybe their friend who was also looking to adopt would like to take the "other one" (another point against them).

A couple of them had even had the audacity to insult Mokuba, asking what was so important about him. You're brothers, right? You should _want _to get away from him, then. Come on. He's a brat, isn't he? I can tell.

The glare Seto sent _those_ people's way had held enough venom to make them forget they were speaking to a child. The unbridled fury in it caused them to take the threat behind it as genuine, despite the fact that Seto was thin, without much muscle, and probably wouldn't last ten seconds against somebody three times his age and, more to the point, three times his size.

But he never wasted his breath on any of them.

Because Seto was Mokuba's Niisama.

That meant abandoning him was not tolerated.

The very idea was an insult.

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**5.  
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Did he cheat that day?

Seto would never answer.

Somehow, though, he had beaten Kaiba Gozaburo in a game of chess. And if it happened to be that he _had _cheated, he had done a good enough job that the man hadn't noticed it or, more likely in that given scenario, had ignored it if he had.

And so Seto and Mokuba Yagami became Seto and Mokuba Kaiba, the heirs to Gozaburo's fortune and his legacy. Anybody who owned a television knew his name; Gozaburo was a huge influence on the country...on the world itself.

One of the richest men on the planet, Gozaburo's home was huge, lavishly decorated, densely staffed, and heavily guarded. The place where Seto and his young brother were to make their home was the complete antithesis to anywhere they had lived before.

It was a monument to personal accomplishment; everything in it was there not because Gozaburo needed it, but because he wanted it. The floors gleamed, and Seto could see his reflection in them. The walls were sculpted in such elaborate patterns that they became art rather than barriers. The furniture was rich, elaborate, extravagant.

Gozaburo made a point of never settling for ordinary.

Absolutely nothing in his house was simply functional...

...Except his personal office and private bedroom.

The reason for this was simple.

The rest of the house was seen by others. Employees, reporters, television personalities; any number of people came to the Kaiba Estate in hopes of speaking to such a great man as its owner, and so to appeal to the public, Gozaburo made sure to give them what they expected.

What they wanted.

It just made things simpler.

Gozaburo found stupid questions just as much an irritant as his adopted son did. So he gave the public what they expected of a multi-billionaire.

Because it just made things simpler.

But his private space, the office and adjoining bedroom where he worked, rooms that Seto and Mokuba never even saw until after their new father's death, were bare of any and all decoration. This was where Gozaburo only allowed what was necessary, only allowed what he needed and none of what he wanted, because all he wanted _was _what he needed in that particular space.

Because it just made things simpler.

That, Seto would reflect on later, was one of only two things he respected about the man, the other being his conviction to his personal beliefs, even when that conviction ended up with him leaping out of a fortieth-story window because "that's what a loser deserved."

Everything else about him, Seto despised.

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**6.  
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He thought his life had become some overused shounen manga subplot for a character teetering on the fence dividing the worlds of villain and anti-hero, when he bothered to think of it at all. He wondered if this was why orphaned children in any number of stories so often had dark pasts.

Perhaps it was, statistically, true.

Or perhaps he was just lucky.

He'd grown used to the taste of blood. He'd grown used to bruises. He'd grown used to having little to eat or to drink, grown used to little sleep.

And while it was a certainty that he didn't enjoy such things, he was logical enough to understand that whining about them wouldn't soften Gozaburo's heart any.

Yep. Cheesy manga written all over it.

Every time he thought he might break, every time he felt tears sting the back of his eyes after another sleepless night of staring into the cold, unblinking glare of a computer monitor, he reminded himself why he was doing it in the first place.

And every once in a while, when just telling himself wasn't enough, he would leave his desk and shuffle out into the hallway, clad in slippers and light blue pajamas, and maneuver his way to one particular room.

Inside, he would walk silently up to the bed and watch his brother sleep, sometimes holding a teddy bear, sometimes a pillow, sometimes a scrunched-up blanket.

Seto would stand there, knowing that he was wasting time that he couldn't afford to waste, that any chance of sleeping at all was being completely dashed, but he also knew that it was worth it.

Because Mokuba was safe.

Mokuba was left alone.

Mokuba was happy.

And that meant everything Seto went through was working.

So he would stand at his brother's bedside like a silent guard, watching the boy's soft, even breathing, every once in a while brushing a stray strand of jet-black hair from his brow, and would allow himself to smile.

Sometimes, Mokuba would wake, gray-violet eyes fluttering open to regard him quizzically, and Seto's smile would widen.

"Hi, Niisama," he would say.

"Hey, kiddo," Seto would reply.

And Seto would sit on the edge of Mokuba's bed, holding his hand, and tell him a story to help him get back to sleep.

When he did, Seto would lean down, gently kiss the boy's forehead, and walk back to his own room, back to the computer, filled with new drive, with rejuvenated purpose, and he wouldn't even notice that he hadn't gotten any sleep.

He wouldn't think about what Gozaburo would do to him when it was discovered that he was behind schedule.

Because Mokuba was happy.

What he went through was working.

That was what mattered.

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**7.  
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When Gozaburo died, Seto took over.

And once again, he and Mokuba were alone.

This time, however, it was okay.

Seto gained legal guardianship of his brother, and life went on. No more pretense of finding a family, because now they didn't need one.

They _were _one.

An unconventional one, perhaps, but enough of one to work.

Seto worked, as he'd been doing for years, and Mokuba went to school. Seto met with employees, clients, potential partners, while Mokuba made friends his own age for once, watching anime and reading manga (because it was the only sort of cartoon and comic he could stand; the rest of it was too stupid, he said on any number of occasions), listening to music and planning sleepovers and playing videogames, and any other hobby he happened to fancy at the time.

Seto wasn't jealous that his brother lived the life _he_ supposedly should have. He didn't resent the fact that Mokuba had plenty of free time to meet with friends and go to arcades and movies, when his entire existence revolved around a tight schedule with little to no breathing room.

One of the few times he had come to pick Mokuba up from school earlier than usual, he had seen the boy with a group of other kids, some his age and some older, apparently in the midst of a heated defense of someone named Ryuuken, who apparently none of the others liked but he did, and Seto found himself curious enough to ask who this person was.

Mokuba had shown him.

Seto did not miss the connection.

He had smiled, ruffled his brother's hair, and driven home secure in the knowledge that he had done his job right.

He had done what his mother had asked of him, so many years ago.

He had earned the title of "Niisama."

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**8.  
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He stared at the girl who wanted to be a dancer in New York in shock, but didn't let it register on his face.

He wanted to reply. He wanted to make them understand.

He wanted to say:

"This was not _just_ a game, Gardner. This was a test. A test Pegasus forced on Yugi and me because he's a sadistic prick, and one that I was _not _about to lose.

"This is not about me and Yugi. This is not about me asserting my superiority over him. It has nothing to do with any of that. This isn't a game. It's a battle. And more than just our pride hangs on that battle.

"Why do you think I'm here, Gardner?" he wanted to ask. "Why do you think I'm wasting my time with a tournament I wasn't even invited to? I'm here for the exact reason Yugi and you are here.

"He isn't the only one here to save someone. This battle was forced on me because Pegasus has only given me this one choice, and since his advantage is one I can't overcome, I'm forced to play by his rules. Those rules state that only one of us will gain the opportunity to play against him.

"It's either Solomon Motou that comes out of this alive, or Mokuba Kaiba. I made my choice. Yugi should have been able to make his.

"That he hasn't gave me a chance that I can't afford to ignore. Do you honestly think I _want _to win under such cowardly circumstances? Do you think I consider threatening _suicide _to be a proper tactic in the context of a simple game?

"No. The only way to earn back my title is to _earn _it, and I haven't done that here. That is not my goal. I'm here to save my brother, and if I have to degrade myself by using such stupid maneuvers in order to do that, then so be it. My pride is inconsequential in comparison to Mokuba's life."

He wanted to say, "If Yugi wanted above all else to save his grandfather, he would have gone through with it. He would have killed me. If he was as convicted as he says he is, choosing his grandfather over me, a man who has shown no kindness to him, and Mokuba, a complete stranger, should have been simple.

"It was simple for me. I chose Mokuba. I _have _to choose Mokuba. There is no choice for me. I don't need to question; I don't need to choose. Mokuba needs me, and that is all that matters. I'm his Niisama. I can't abandon him. Not for anything...or anyone."

He wanted to say those things, he wanted to have these people understand that he wasn't being petty and stupid and arrogant about this game. He knew it was a hard choice for Yugi, and he _did _appreciate the compassion the younger boy had shown him by letting him live when he should have killed him, but he had no time to think about that.

Mokuba needed him.

And so he answered the girl's question as simply as possible, because he had no time to elaborate.

He said,

"I have all that I need."

END  
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AUTHOR'S NOTES

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_**"Niisama" is a highly respectful manner of saying "older brother" in Japanese, and since the real meaning behind it is lost in translation, I've used it here.**_

_**"Shounen" is a genre of manga appealing to boys, typically with action-filled plots, and my use of it here is mainly a joke considering the true nature of Seto's character.**_

_**Lastly, "Ryuuken" is a reference to Kubo Tite's manga series, "Bleach." Ishida Ryuuken, the father of Ishida Uryuu, one of the main characters in the story, seems very close in spirit to Seto, in my opinion, and so I decided to add it in.**_

_**This story is a bit of a spiritual sequel to "I Remember," although I suppose it's more of a reworking than a sequel. It's also a response to one of the more irritating lines from the dub (I don't know what Anzu asks in the original version, but I assume it's similar), quoted at the very beginning of Part 1.**_

_**I find it ironic and frustrating that Yugi's band so vehemently dislikes Seto, given his history. He's not a bad person, and anything he's done in the anime (by the point in the timeline shown in this story, anyway) has been perfectly within his rights, if not entirely ethical. I don't bring the manga into this because, obviously, his actions at Death-T don't fall with the realms of "within rights."**_

_**This ended up longer than I had expected, but I feel it's one of my more in-depth, elaborate character studies on Seto, and the reasons for his actions throughout the series, and so I'm pleased with the results.**_

_**Also, I know that Domino City is in Japan, but the dub changed that aspect of the series (for reasons I'm not sure of, but any number of decisions made by 4Kids confuse me), and since I use the dub as my major inspiration regarding this particular series, because it was how I was first exposed to it and I still haven't found the Japanese version, I decided to claim Seto and Mokuba live in the US.**_

_**I always thought that Seto's line, "I have all that I need," was a much more loaded phrase than what's really shown in the anime. Eric Stuart's delivery of that line seemed much too harsh and arrogant to really fit what I think it means. It should have been done in a more quiet, reserved tone, as far as I'm concerned.**_

_**That, I think, is the main reason I wrote this.**_

_**And I hope you enjoyed it.**_


	2. Responsibility

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EARNING AN ACCOLADE  
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Part II: Responsibility**

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**Iced Blood**

**August 26th, 2007**

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**_Okay...I didn't intend to do this initially. "Accolade" was supposed to be a oneshot. But I found that I couldn't leave it alone. The setup of this work was one I felt I could use again, and so I gave it a shot. Like the first section, this is comprised of eight somewhat loosely connected scenes. _**

**_A disclaimer regarding scene five: Seto expounds upon his very...particular views regarding organized religion, and is not very tactful about it. If this scene offends anyone, I would like it noted that I do not agree with his assessments. I simply believe them to fit his personality._**

**_With that said, I hope you enjoy this._**

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**1.  
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_Thank you. Thank you for saving my brother's soul. He means everything to me._

It had been a moment of weakness. He wasn't entirely certain why he had said it in the first place. They didn't care; they had their assumptions, and they were comfortable with them. More than likely that acknowledgment of gratitude would be forgotten within the day, and he would go back to being the "mean" one, the "jerk," the "arrogant punk."

It only bothered him insomuch as it proved _his _assumptions on this particular group's collective intelligence level to be true; that was, they more than likely couldn't solve a child's jigsaw puzzle without a camera and a pad of notes.

They didn't see their hypocrisy.

And he had a feeling that, even if they had, they would shrug it off as unimportant.

It's only _Kaiba_, after all.

They probably _still _wondered why he didn't "open up more."

How _open _did they want him to become, exactly? Was he expected to bow down in homage to The Great Yugi and kiss his feet like they all did? Was he expected to construct a time machine and stop himself from ripping the fourth Blue-Eyes card in half?

They hadn't caught on to the idea that not everyone considered Yugi Motou to be the center of the universe, or at least had not accepted it, as though they were acolytes to a new religion, spreading The Transcendent Truth, and were incensed that _other _people (heathens, all) refused to convert.

He decided to let it pass.

Looking down, and seeing the reverent gray-violet glow of his brother's eyes, so filled again with light and life, so filled with loving trust and undying loyalty, Seto Kaiba found that Yugi and his band didn't really matter.

Not one bit.

* * *

**2.  
**

* * *

**  
**

He supposed he should have known better.

And later, he would wonder at himself, and shake his head in that wonder, at not trusting Mokuba's word. It wasn't as though the ebon-crowned boy had _ever _given him a reason to doubt.

The only time Mokuba had ever lied to him had been regarding a birthday gift three years prior, which Seto had found a week too early.

Mokuba had said it was for a friend.

...Which wasn't really even a lie, come to think of it.

But he supposed it was every parent's assumption that his child was lying when he claimed to be too sick to attend school on the day of a test.

The more Seto thought about it, however, the more he berated himself for that assumption. Mokuba's grades were impeccable, and he had been studying diligently for the past week. There was no reason for Mokuba to suddenly lie about his health.

But Seto had thought he was, for some reason.

"I know you have a test today, kiddo," Seto had said, not even looking at his doorway. If he had, he would have noticed that Mokuba was leaning rather heavily on said doorway, eyes clouded and half-closed.

"I...I know...Niisama..." Mokuba had responded, and Seto's passing thought in response to that was that the boy had become a surprisingly good actor.

"Then get ready. You're going to be late." Here he glanced fleetingly at Mokuba, but only to discern that he was still in pajamas. "Hurry, now. Get dressed. I know your laundry's clean, so go."

"N-Niisama...please..."

"Mokuba, I don't have _time _to be—"

He turned, finally, just in time to see Mokuba double over and vomit on the floor. Moaning pitifully, the boy wasn't able to hold his feet as his small body was racked with convulsions, and crumpled to his knees, clutching his stomach. When the spasms passed, Mokuba fell, exhausted, to the side.

Seto didn't say a word.

Not, "Mokuba!" or, "Oh, I'm sorry!" or anything else.

He simply shot to his feet, swept his brother up into his arms, and strode quickly down the hall into the front parlor. On the way he kicked open a closet and snatched a blanket and pillow (reserved for guests who hardly ever showed up and _never _required use of such things) without slowing.

After settling Mokuba onto the couch situated against the center of one wall, Seto tucked the blanket around him, deposited a small trash bin near the boy's head, and fished a cellular phone out of his pocket.

After three separate calls (one to Mokuba's school, one to his own, and one to his office), Seto pitched the phone aside and knelt down by Mokuba's side.

"Are you comfortable, Mokuba?" he asked softly.

The tone of his voice, and the look in his eyes, betrayed the mechanical manner with which he had thus far dealt with the situation.

Mokuba smiled.

"Yes...Niisama. I'm...sorry for...for throwing up...in your office..."

"Hush," Seto whispered soothingly. "Don't you worry about that."

He left for a moment and came back with a thermometer, which he slipped into Mokuba's mouth before any protest could be mustered.

"Sit still and wait, Mokuba," Seto said. "Move, and I'll just have to do it again. I know, I know, it makes you want to gag. No need to give me that kicked-puppy look."

Seto shifted himself to sit on the edge of the couch and put a gentle hand on his brother's forehead, brushing his bangs back in a methodical, thoughtless gesture of affection.

Mokuba smiled around the thermometer and did as asked.

* * *

**3.  
**

* * *

**  
**

"Oi! Lookee there, Yug!"

Seto closed his eyes and sighed, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to calm himself. He was most certainly _not _in the mood to deal with another sidewalk-vernacular symphony from Domino City's resident runner-up.

"Oh. Kaiba! Hey, Kaiba! Fancy seeing you here!"

Oh, wondrous luck...

He tried vainly to telepathically order the pair to find a bus to jump under, but unfortunately his ability in that particular art was lacking.

"So how come you wasn't at school today, huh?"

Resisting a suddenly near-insatiable urge to grind his teeth, Seto instead sighed again and shifted his shoulders. "I had pressing business to attend to, Wheeler," he said, in his most overt "don't-talk-to-me" tone.

It didn't work.

"What kinda business?"

"..._Pressing."_

"What's 'at mean?"

"It's the present participle form of the—"

"Oh, shut up! I know _that, _you jerk!"

"Then don't ask."

Yugi, ever the peacemaker, chuckled nervously. "...Heh. Good one...Kaiba. But why _weren't _you at school? You're not one to skip."

"...I. Had. Pressing. Business."

How long would it take, he wondered, before these two got the hint that he _did not _intend to elaborate? It wasn't as though they actually _wanted_ to know the answer...well, Yugi might have. But Joey was just in it to annoy him.

He didn't intend to show that it was working.

"Holy shit!"

_Oh, great, _Seto thought, _what _stunning _epiphany have you come to now, O Second Coming of Aristotle?_

He grunted.

"Didn' know ya had it in ya, Kaiba!"

"...What."

"Yer buyin' soda! Yer frickin' _normal _sometimes, Kaiba!"

"This is for Mokuba, Wheeler."

"...Oh. Never mind, then. Yer still weird."

"Thank you. So magnanimous of you to point that out."

"Jerk."

Seto paid for the twelve-pack of 7-Up and left the store without another word.

Yes...jerk.

Indeed.

* * *

**4.  
**

* * *

**  
**

There was a piano in the parlor.

It was old but well-cared for; a monument to a lost age of music, when each note was carefully scrutinized, when the music was enough to stand on its own, without the addition of lyric. When melody mattered. When composition was not a profession, but an art.

Nobody but Mokuba knew that Seto played the piano. This was not so much because it was a secret but because Seto preferred not to allow others into his home.

Whenever Mokuba wanted to have a sleepover with a friend, he went to their home. It was never the other way around. And when Seto conducted an interview, it was always at a public venue.

And despite what people may have thought, Seto did not have a myriad of workers living at his estate. He'd had a butler, once, but only for a short time.

Seto preferred solitude.

Mokuba felt exceedingly proud that he was the single exception to that rule.

Or he would have, if his stomach hadn't currently been attempting to rip itself apart.

Seto's hand on his back was the only thing reminding Mokuba to breathe as he leaned over the trash bin and retched. He moaned with each convulsion, wanting nothing more than to curl into a ball and die.

"Shhh...it's okay, Mokuba...just breathe...breathe, kiddo..."

He tried.

He couldn't.

Tears streamed down his face as a thousand shards of jagged glass dug themselves deeper and deeper into his gut, straining futilely to find some phantom irritant.

He couldn't breathe.

He couldn't think.

There was nothing but the pain.

The pain...and Seto's hand.

Ten thousand years later, it passed, and Mokuba collapsed against his brother, unable to hold himself up anymore. Seto hugged him gently, stroked back his hair, and laid him back down.

"There...do you feel better now, Mokuba?"

He barely managed a nod.

"Good. Try to sleep, little brother."

Seto got up, and though Mokuba couldn't turn his head to watch, he knew that his brother was seating himself at the piano.

He could see, in his mind, Seto's hands gliding over the keys as the room filled with music. The notes drifted in the air, soft and light, never fully vanishing but intermingling with each other into a dance that spun and twirled into eternity. Closing his eyes, Mokuba felt himself floating along with the soft, soothing melody, guided by his brother's gentle hand into a dream.

"That's pretty...Niisama..." he whispered.

He heard Seto chuckle slightly before falling into sleep.

* * *

**5.  
**

* * *

**  
**

There were, inevitably, times that Seto fleetingly wondered why he bothered attending high school at all. He supposed it might have been because it was "required" and/or "expected" of him...or at least, that was the explanation he used when anyone bothered to ask him.

But considering the overall goal of education, which was – when last he checked – to prepare children for survival in that ambiguous, intoxicating arena called the "real" world, Seto really didn't need to waste his time.

He had had as much an education as anyone, although he still had a year before graduation.

It could be because the classroom gave him time to clear his head.

It could be because he didn't want Mokuba having to admit that his parent hadn't graduated high school.

It could be because he didn't want people shoving the aforementioned information in his face, because there were so many other things he was criticized for.

He wasn't entirely certain.

But he did, and he supposed he had no one to blame but himself for that. And so he sat, hands combing back his hair, elbows on his desk, trying not to think too much about his still-sick brother lying on the couch at home.

He'd been told, on that first day, that he had missed too many days that semester and needed to start showing up more often or he wouldn't graduate...or, at least, that was the gist of it. He hadn't been paying too much attention at the time. Mokuba's illness had chosen that particular phone call as an opportune time to let itself be known again, and it was decidedly difficult to block out the sound of your child vomiting in order to listen to a voice you didn't want to hear in the first place.

But he figured it prudent to attend. And Mokuba had assured him he felt better. Good enough to handle himself, if not good enough to go back to school. And if anything happened, there was still the phone.

Seto sighed.

He sometimes thought he worried too much.

He sometimes thought he didn't _care _that he worried too much.

"...Kaiba?"

Seto blinked, irritated at having been caught not paying attention, and turned his gaze to the speaker, his instructor.

"Mister Kaiba."

"Yes."

"Your thoughts?"

"On _what?"_

Seto knew he hadn't been paying attention, and thus it wasn't really his place to snap at the teacher, but then again, it was _clear _he hadn't been paying attention, and thus _obviously _had no idea what he was expected to answer.

The instructor - a tall, angular man by the name of Ted Young - sighed heavily. "We were _discussing _the article Miss Gardner brought in. Current events...you know, that _thing _we do every morning? As you recall, I'm sure, a Mister Theodore McAllen accidentally backed over his infant son in his car, resulting in the baby's death. Miss Gardner has stated that it is unfair to punish him further, as he has suffered enough. Do you agree? Or _not?"_

"I do not."

He left it at that. He knew he was expected to elaborate, but Seto wasn't in a particularly cooperative mood (when was he ever?).

"...Would you mind telling us _why?"_

"I would, but I assume that is irrelevant," Seto muttered.

Mister Young's glare was enough of an answer. Seto sighed and decided it would take less time and effort to simply do as asked, and speak his mind on the subject.

"...That the father has 'suffered enough' is a nonsensical statement," Seto said with strained, condescending patience. "Accident or not, the fact remains that this man killed a child."

"It was an _accident, _Kaiba!" came Téa Gardner's indignant squawk from behind him.

He clenched his teeth. "Accident _or not, _is that child any less _dead?" _he demanded in a harsh whisper. "Was the car expected to stop on _principle _before _crushing _him?"

"Of course not," came the reply, "but that's the point! He shouldn't have to go to _prison _after losing his son!"

"_Losing? _This isn't like a runaway _puppy, _you idiot," Seto snapped. "He didn't misplace his _keys. _You can call it an _accident _all you want; it won't make it true. Strip away the pointless emotional hand-wringing and all you have left is a _dead_ child and a _guilty_ father. Add one to the other and you have murder."

The class went stone silent, and even Mister Young didn't say a word. Téa, clearly shocked by her classmate's callous treatment of the situation, didn't reply for a long moment.

"Kaiba...it was an accident." Here Seto groaned, irritated. "He didn't mean to do it. He's been punished enough for what he did. We shouldn't add to his grief."

"Imprisonment isn't about _punishment, _Gardner, it's a _deterrent. _Punished enough? Are you telling me _God _punished him for his carelessness? Well, guess what? That religious trash doesn't work, because the _father _wasn't punished _at all. _If your god had any sense of competence then the _infant _– who had no choice in the matter – would have been left alone! Are you trying to tell me God kills innocents to prove a point? That sounds suspiciously like terrorism to me."

He wasn't usually so vocal about his beliefs...or about _anything, _for that matter. Normally, he wouldn't have even bothered. He wasn't sure – or just didn't want to admit to himself – what had him so irritated about this particular argument.

As he'd figured, Téa gasped indignantly. If she'd been sitting closer to him, she probably would have slapped him. "_Kaiba_...don't you _dare _talk like that—"

"Don't I dare? What, is God going to set me on fire? He doesn't need you protecting his image, if he even exists at all. So save it. I don't care. How about this? Now that I've been roped into this stupid discussion, how about we finish it?"

"I'll _not _have you taking the—"

"Oh, for the...then _leave."_

"_You _leave! It's obvious you don't have any _human _emotion! So why don't you just run back to your _computers _and leave us alone?"

"_That _was mature. All right. Say I do. Then what? Are _you _going to leave _me _alone? Or are you going to take the next time we inevitably meet each other to browbeat me with bible passages and _friendship _speeches because you've obviously forgotten your assessment of me again? If you're going to argue something, make sure it has relevance, _and _that it's _true. _You don't want me to leave. You want me to stop arguing the point and just accept _you're _right because you _think_ you're right and therefore _must _be."

"I _want _you to have some _compassion _for a man who's lost his child!"

Seto drew in a deep breath through clenched teeth. "I said it once...apparently you've a limited understanding of English, so I'll reiterate: _Mister _McAllen didn't _lose _his child. This was carelessness. Pure. Simple. Clear. And that carelessness – directly on the part of McAllen – resulted in a child's death. The _child _is where your _compassion _should be, Gardner, _not _with the man who _killed _him.

"I have no sympathy for a man too stupid to scan his yard for his infant before starting his car. I also have no sympathy for a man too stupid not to make sure his infant won't crawl into the _path_ of his car."

"Some things just _happen_, Kaiba! We shouldn't punish him for something that was out of his contr—"

Seto stood up. "With your permission, Mister Young, I wish to make a quick trip to the library and find a dictionary so that _Miss Gardner _may look up the definition of _control."_

A few of the other students chuckled nervously.

He turned and faced Téa directly. "A parent is legally responsible for his child," he said, and now his voice was oddly mechanical. "If something happens to that child, it is the parent's responsibility to deal with the consequences. McAllen's child died. And if he was a good parent, he is grieving because of that. He is also willing to accept responsibility for it."

His eyes narrowed. "Maybe you need an example for this to sink in. Let us assume that I am twenty-one, and have visited a convention as a result of my job. I was offered, and I accepted, several alcoholic drinks. As a result, by the time I decide to leave, my blood alcohol level is above the legal limit. I do not realize that. I believe that I retain the ability to drive competently. No one stops me.

"I get into my car and attempt to drive home. I swerve into the path of another vehicle and, as a result of that crash, Mokuba – you remember him, don't you? – dies. I did not intend for that. I had every intention of seeing him home and safe, sleeping peacefully. I ask you, Téa Gardner...whose fault is it that that did not happen?"

"...Yours. You drank too much."

"Theodore McAllen did not check to see if his child was safe before backing out of his driveway."

"But...but...that's not against the law!"

Seto's eyes narrowed further, and there was a hard glint to them, but beneath that, a hint of profound sorrow. "...Perhaps it should be."

Téa blinked.

Everyone stared at him.

No one dared say a word against him when he turned away and walked out of the room.

* * *

**6.  
**

* * *

**  
**

Truancy was never his aim, but it was by this point rather commonplace for Seto to leave school in the middle of the day, and his instructors had all but accepted it.

This day, however, marked the first time he had done so out of anger.

It wasn't so much the argument itself that had him angered; he had argued any number of times with Yugi and his clique, sometimes had even instigated those arguments out of boredom or amusement or both.

Rather, it was Téa's assessment of both the situation and his reaction to it. He had known from the start that he wouldn't change the girl's opinion of him, and knew that his outburst at her expense had been purely cathartic, with no productive motive behind it and _certainly _no positive outcome.

She thought, surely, that his harsh view of the man from the newspaper and his actions was due to his being inhuman. An animal. A machine. A _thing _without any concept of mercy or pity.

Mercy had nothing to do with it.

Nothing at all.

He remembered something Mokuba had told him, that first night back home after the Duelist Kingdom debacle. Seto had just tucked the boy in – a practice that hadn't taken place in about half a year because Mokuba had decided himself too mature for such things – and was about to turn off the light and leave when Mokuba said,

"...I never gave it to them."

For a moment, Seto had stood there, confused, not understanding what his brother was talking about. That confusion was obviously stamped all over his face, because Mokuba elaborated:

"The key. To your safe. I never gave it to them. I never told them anything."

The key...his safe...

Suddenly, as he recalled a series of documents held in a small safe hidden in his office, Seto understood. Of course...

But then, a larger realization came to him.

Mokuba had risked his life to protect him.

Not Seto's life...but his reputation. His livelihood.

The thought made him go pale.

"M-Mokuba..." he'd said, "...you..."

He'd meant to say, "You shouldn't have done that." The words had been there, on his lips, and he'd had every intent to say them.

Something in Mokuba's eyes stopped him short.

He was looking for reassurance, Seto realized. He was looking for acceptance. For recognition. Acknowledgment.

_He did it not only to protect me, _Seto thought, _but...to make me proud. He wants to know I'm proud of him._

To deny Mokuba that acknowledgment would be inexcusable.

Seto started again.

"...Just what I'd expect from my vice-president."

Mokuba's smile reached his ears. "Yes, sir."

Seto returned the smile and switched off the light.

"Now get some sleep, Mokuba."

He turned to leave.

"Good night, Niisama. I...I love you."

Seto stopped.

"I love you, too, Mokuba."

Just for that...for those few, simple words...Mokuba had risked dying. For that simple acknowledgment from the man who was his role model, Mokuba had stood against one of the most powerful organizations on the planet.

After that night, Seto had come to realize the depth of Mokuba's loyalty, and just how heavy his responsibility to the boy was.

It was Seto's job to prove that loyalty well-placed.

That was the heart of any parent's job. To prove that unquestioning loyalty, that unconditional love, to be well-placed.

McAllen had failed.

Completely.

And Téa Gardner thought he should be left alone.

Just the thought of it made Seto's teeth clench. That sort of failure was not only inexcusable but unforgivable, and if there was _any_ crime worth punishing in the mind of Seto Kaiba, it was that.

Theodore McAllen was lucky Seto hadn't decided to take on a legal profession.

* * *

**7.**

* * *

Asking an introvert why he doesn't get out more seemed to Seto as asinine a question as asking a student of Spanish why he doesn't learn Japanese instead. 

Upon further consideration, Seto realized just how apt that simile was, when he came to the conclusion that his peers _would _ask such a question, and find nothing at all idiotic about it.

Joey Wheeler's favorite question for Seto, as if he were a parrot with specialized memorizations for each face he knew, was what he was doing.

Apparently, though, Joey was the King of Parrots, because said question was always uttered with a slathering of condescension.

Which, now that Seto thought about it, compounded upon his many other hypocrisies in that he acted as though the only place Seto were allowed to be was his own home (because no matter _where _he was, "what're _you _doin' here, _Kaiba?" _were the first words out of the blonde's mouth, in that precise inflection), and yet criticized him in the same breath for staying locked up in his office all the time.

Wonder of wonders...

"I _was _trying to pretend you were in another country," came Seto's reply this time, "but you went and shattered my illusion. Happy now?"

"Ha, ha. Real funny, Kaiba."

"I'm so relieved you approve. I spent all week on it."

Once again attempting to play intermediary, Yugi chuckled. Of course. If Joey was here, so was Yugi. Like conjoined twins who had forgotten their surgical separation.

"Uh..." Yugi began, his typical segue, "Téa told me that, uh...you scared her today."

"What'd ya do, Kaiba, show 'er yer face?"

"Yes. Because she's never seen it before. No one has, actually. I keep it hidden in my basement."

Joey scowled. "You think yer funny, don'tcha?"

"I think you're blocking my silence."

"Kaiba...what did you say?" Yugi pressed.

"I'm not sure why you thought you would get that information out of me more readily than you would Gardner. But it is apparent by the tone of your voice that you believe me to have overstepped my bounds."

Yugi didn't answer. He simply frowned.

"This conversation might have proven fruitful if I happened to care," Seto continued.

"Man, Kaiba, why you gotta be such a—"

"You're blocking the shelf, Wheeler."

"Ask me if I care."

"A fascinating response. I'll let you ponder on the irony of it. In the meantime, kindly remove yourself from the aisle before _I _do."

"You don't strike me as a fan of manga, Kaiba," Yugi noted. "What are you looking for?"

"A way out of this conversation. What say we look for one together? Wheeler, I'm serious: _move."_

Joey smirked. "No."

Seto sighed irritably, glanced at his watch, and lifted Joey off the floor, placing him – none too gently – to the side. "But _I'm _the jerk..." he muttered.

"Joey, knock it off," Yugi admonished, with no real reproach, before the blonde started in again. "I don't think you wanna make Kaiba mad."

Finally finding what he was looking for, Seto knelt down and grabbed the spine of a rather thick volume, inspected it, and nodded.

"Before you ask," Seto said, cutting Yugi off as he was drawing in a breath to speak, "this is for Mokuba. No, I'm not going to tell you what it is. Yes, I am an insufferable, belligerent asshole. No, I am not sorry for that. No, I don't intend to change that, because I don't like you. Because you annoy me."

Raising an eyebrow, Seto looked at the pair. "I trust this will end the conversation. Feel free to add your input to it amongst yourselves."

He turned away from them.

"Ya know, Kaiba, I'll never understand what Mokuba sees in you."

Seto didn't turn around.

"...Good."

* * *

**8.**

* * *

**  
**

"Bad day, Niisama?"

"Not particularly," Seto replied dryly as he hung up his coat. "Rather normal, I'd say. How are you feeling?"

Mokuba smiled. "Better."

"Good." Seto tossed a small plastic bag his brother's way. "Here."

Blinking, Mokuba opened the bag and withdrew the book. His eyes lit up, and he grinned widely. "I've been waiting for this! Thanks, Niisama!"

"You're welcome."

He walked over and ruffled his brother's hair. "Feel good enough to go to school tomorrow?"

Mokuba nodded. "Prob'ly."

"Good."

"What about _you?"_ Mokuba asked, grinning mischievously.

"...Maybe."

"No fair." He pouted.

"Never has been. I'll be in my office, kiddo. Have fun."

The grin was back. "'Kay."

And so it began again. Like any number of days in the Kaiba home, the elder would work in his study, while the younger sat in the front parlor.

Some time during the evening, Seto would make dinner, and Mokuba would beg for dessert even though he was never hungry enough to bother with one, and would protest when Seto reminded him of that fact, saying that this time it was different; he was _famished _this time. Really.

Then Seto would make Mokuba brush his teeth, come into the boy's room at nine and turn off the television. He would tuck Mokuba in, and if Mokuba protested he wouldn't really mean it.

"I love you, Niisama," Mokuba would say as his brother left the room.

"Love you too, kid," Seto would reply as he turned out the light.

Seto would go back into his study and work until he couldn't keep his eyes open, then depending on how late it was he would either go to bed or just sleep in his chair.

And no matter which happened, he would wake up at four in the morning, would wake Mokuba at six-thirty, and the cycle would begin anew.

It was a routine.

A comfortable routine.

"Why don't you get out more?" Yugi sometimes asked. "Why don't you try new things, meet new people, go to new places?"

The answer was simple, really.

Because...

"We have all that we need."

END  
.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTES

* * *

**  
**

_**Firstly, I would like to thank Shakiah Kestrel. Without your assistance, I doubt I would have finished this. Your input was invaluable. **_

_**The opening line to scene one, like in the first section, is a quote from the dub, this one from Seto himself. However, I altered it slightly for the sake of flow. The actual line reads, "Thank you for saving my brother Mokuba's soul..."**_

_**I felt that the use of Mokuba's name here was unnecessarily wordy, and so took it out. Throughout this series, it seems like the dub's writers thought we might forget a character's name if it isn't spoken at least four times per episode, and the same could be said about the relationships between certain characters. How often, for example, have we heard Joey talk about his "sister Serenity," rather than simply his sister, or Serenity? Apparently the use of one label necessitates the other in the minds of these people.**_

_**I would also like to note a specific factor in scene four. Although I could not describe it sufficiently enough, I did have a specific piece of music in mind when I wrote that scene. A small piece written for episode 3-15 ("Half-Wit") of "House, M.D." Those of you who have seen that episode will know what I'm talking about. I still believe that that song is one of the most beautiful things I've ever heard played on a piano. And it fit the scene well, I think. For those of who who have no idea what I'm talking about...substitute something soothing.**_

_**I made an attempt to shed light on Mokuba's character a bit this time, but it didn't happen quite the way I'd figured. So, I decided to just run with it. While the first section deals more with how Seto came to earn the title of "Niisama," this section deals with Seto's beliefs on just what that means to him, in terms of responsibility. **_

_**This took far too long to get out, I think, and I hope I never have to struggle through something like this again. But then, I probably will. I hope the work put out something enjoyable. And who knows? Maybe I'll crank out a third section at some point. I don't know.**_

_**Until we meet again, my fair audience, I bid you farewell.**_


End file.
